Never, EVER give up. Not ever. Not EVER. Ever EVER!
I know it's practical for career women, but sneakers with suits? Jesus couldn't possibly weep harder than I did.
You have attained maturity; display it for us, if you please.
Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
I was so furious I was actually dizzy with it. There were so many bitchy, sarcastic observations to make, I was having a sarcasm stroke. "My God! You people! You're - you're so stupid you're making my eyeballs throb. They're throbbing, dammit!
Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
Why is it suddenly uncool to spell? That's all I want to know.
Also,I loathe it when you refer to me as dude" Eric Sinclair to Betsy
He said my name the way diabetics talked about hot fudge sundaes.
It's inappropriate for the queen of the dead to be afraid of ghosts.
Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
Back off, boys. You don't want to mess with an out-of-work secretary. We're real testy.
I've been stabbed before. Barely a week ago, in fact. AND I've been audited, AND I come from a broken home. In short - no offense, shorty - you don't scare me.
Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
My my Laura Goodman. I must say that is a charming name for a charming young lady." "Eric's old." I broke in. "Really really old." "Er— really?" Laura asked. "Gosh you don't look even out of your thirties." "Tons of face-lifts. He's a surgical addict. I'm trying to get him help." I added defensively when they both gave me strange looks.
I've always assumed he'd be around to be, you know, yelled at and taken for granted. And of course I was wrong. Nobody's going to put up with that forever.
He snarled at me. "This isn't over yet, Betsy." "Excellent," I said. "I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.
I—I adore you, too. Well, I don't know if I adore you. That's not really the word I'd use. But I—I—" I managed to wrench it out. God, this was hard! "I love you." "Of course you do," he said, totally unsurprised. "WHAT? I finally tell you my deepest, most personal feelings and you're all, 'Yeah, I already got that memo'? This, this is why you drive me nuts! This is why it's so hard to tell you things! I take it back.
All writers are crazy. So never mind what the editors and your family and your critique group tells you. Submit your manuscripts and keep submitting until you get an offer. Then you can be crazy, with a paycheck.
The vampire bible, bound in human skin, written in blood, and full of prophecies that were never wrong. Trouble was, if you read the thing too long, it drove you nuts. Not "I'm having a bad day and feel bitchy" nuts or PMS nuts. "I think I'll commit felony assault on my friends and rape my boyfriend" nuts.
You'll pay," she said stonily. "You won't be like this by this time tomorrow." "Bored and pissed off? God, I hope not.
... friends are such a mixed blessing.
Zombieland reference," Jon said, nodding. "How do you know that? That's a thousand-year-old reference!" I looked at laura. "I can't think of a single movie from a thousand years ago." "Uh...Betsy..." "Don't say it." You know how you don't know how stupid something is until you hear yourself say it? That happened to me a lot.
Yeah, well, it's been a super fun week. And by 'super fun' I mean 'horrible and endless'.
I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.
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